Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(66)

“But if we understand each other there's no reason for you to run off.” He grinned and dipped a finger between her breasts, tugged at the towel. “What's done is done. We'll figure out how to keep it quiet at the office—millions do it every day.”

She clutched the towel in her fist and stepped back. “In a minute, Liam. I'd like to clean up.” And she shut the door again, screaming inwardly that only one of them understood the real problem.

She didn't want to eat spaghetti, but if she ran out of there like she wanted to do, he'd figure out how deeply she was sinking and look down on her. As much as anyone else in the company, she needed to earn his respect. If he thought she’d weep into her pillow every night because they’d had a quick f*ck, she’d never be able to take command in the office. Already she had George and Rachel and the patternmakers in her camp—she could not afford to lose him now.

She got dressed and found him in the kitchen. “Sure smells good.”

He had pulled a t-shirt on but was barefoot. And no apron. “Hey there.” He watched her carefully, spoon hovering over the pot.

“What is it? Farmer's market or Ragu?”

He hesitated, looking at her. “Too early for local tomatoes,” he said. “But they were nice and ripe.”

With a forced smile on her face, she dipped a finger in the sauce and tasted it. Hot, savory tomatoes filled her senses. “Nice kick to it.”

He dropped the spoon, his eyes on her mouth. “Bev . . . ” He stepped closer to her and brought a finger up to her lips. “You've got a little of it—right—on your—”

She jerked away before the warmth spreading out under her skin where he caressed her reached her brain. Dragging the back of her hand over her mouth, she turned away. “Where's that water pitcher of yours? I'm kind of thirsty.”

Behind her, he was silent then banged something near the stove. She heard him exhale loudly. “It's in the fridge.”

Now he was angry, which was a lot easier to resist than the sweet talk. She walked over to the five-foot-wide stainless steel gourmet refrigerator and jerked it open. Green vegetables washed and sorted into stacks of glass storage containers, cans of energy drinks, a flat of two dozen eggs, little tubs filled with exotic olives—none of it would have been found in her refrigerator. She pushed aside a wedge of $14 cheese to reach the pitcher, kicked the door shut, feeling surer than ever they were from different planets and hers was calling her home urgently.

“I hear my phone.” She dropped the pitcher on the counter and strode from the room. She would tell him her sister needed her at home—for something—anything—

Liam followed her into the hall to her bag on the floor. “Bev, if you want to leave just say so.”

“All right. I want to leave.”

He frowned and moved closer. “Well, don't. The horse is out of the stable. We might as well enjoy—”

“We might as well admit it was a mistake,” she said, while his hand slid up under her shirt and caressed the small of her back.

His lips traced her eyebrows. “We will.” He kissed her temple. “Tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes, felt her knees wobble. She remembered how he’d looked the first time she’d seen him, cold and forbidding, domineering, aloof.

“I have to go.” She pushed away from his seductive mouth and hands to track down her shoes. When she hurried back towards the front door he was lounging back against it with his muscled arms over his chest.

“You're overreacting,” he said.

You have no idea. “Thanks for the f*ck,” she said.

His mouth fell open.

“Excuse me.” She reached around him to the door handle.

When she didn't back down he jerked away from the door. “My pleasure, Ms. Lewis.” His voice was low and furious. “Glad to be of service.”

She hoped he couldn't see her hands shaking. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “See you at the office.”

The door slammed behind her.



First thing in the morning, with her senses dull from a sleepless night, Bev met with Richard, the reinstated CFO. He was a skeletal man with curly red hair, an Amish-like beard, and a sad face. “Fite needs to cut back hard, one way or another,” he said for the third time. “Or it's over.”

“Your report was quite clear.” She put her hands over the folder on her lap. “However, I’m uncomfortable about the lay-offs.”

“Either lay off some now or lay off everyone later.” Richard pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

“But there are other cuts we could take. And of course, if we could get the revenues up, like say—” she pulled out a five-year graph, “—to a few years ago—”

“A few years ago we were all a lot richer,” he said. “Including—or especially—our customers. We have to deal with reality.”

She knew he was right, but the numbers made her sick to her stomach. “I can't do it,” she said. “We have to find another way.”

He shook his head, shoulders sinking. “One reason I came back was I didn't think my decision would last very long. I might as well have a job while I prepare for the next one.”